


On Scars

by 5H1TAKE



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Spies & Secret Agents, gekkagumi-typical violence, speculation of chikage's past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:09:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26062459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/5H1TAKE/pseuds/5H1TAKE
Summary: They say that your body is the map through your past. Dents and curves pathways through the events of your life, painting the image of the “You” before me.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 27





	On Scars

Sighing heavily as he loosens his tie, Utsuki Chikage looks himself up and down in the full length mirror before him. The hideout is cold as per usual, lights dim and laptop whirring quietly behind him. It’s one of the few times he’s received more than a day’s notice of a mission, and he’s thankful he’s only being brought in as backup. 

Slipping the tie from his collar and draping it over the mirror, Chikage began working on the buttons of his pressed shirt, the motions second nature by now. Exhaling slightly through his nose, he moved to pop the cuff buttons free from their holes, fingers and wrists working in tandem to free the restricting fabric from around his skin. As he undid the final buttons his sleeves fell loose to reveal dry, puckering skin beneath.

—————————————————

“You the whore’s brat, huh?” Smoke is blown into his face, “Go get papa some beer.” He doesn’t know this man, he never knows these men. Some say they’re friends, others strangers. The result is the same regardless.

“...”

“Oi, you got brain problems or some shit? Well, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree!” Searing, white pain. Laughter. The woman across the room lies unmoving, asleep. He opens his mouth. Nothing. 

He wakes up to the same noises. She doesn’t know. She was asleep. The fresh burns on his arms have already blended in with the others. Nothing. Nothing.

Nothing.

—————————————————

The shirt removed and folded neatly on the worn, years-old couch, Chikage turns back to the mirror. The hairs on his arms stand up slightly at the cold air, having been uncovered, and the burns running up his biceps create a garden of dull, red yarrows against his skin.

His eyes scan the expanse of his own chest as he reaches for a familiar turtleneck, coming to a stop at a streak of pale, white skin that dips below his waistband. Running a hand along his abdomen, the rib of raised skin already memorised by the pads of his fingertips, he lets out a breath and shakes off the cold.

—————————————————

Clenching his jaw as a fist makes contact, he takes the momentum from the hit to lower his centre of gravity before swinging a leg out high. There’s a dull throb where his foot makes contact, and he hears a sickening click from the other man’s jaw.

“April-!” August’s voice rings through his earpiece but April can’t hear him, eyes locked onto the knife in his opponent’s hand and mind going a mile a minute in an attempt to stay one step ahead of the enemy. He has half a second to register the knee coming at his face and three to notice the knife being flipped into edge out reverse grip, and catches and twists the knee in response before throwing the man off balance and stepping away to put some distance between them.

“April, the mission’s done, disengage and get out!” The voice in his ear is frantic, and matches the timing of steps he takes backwards as the man advances. Where’s December? He’s the armed one out of the two of them. 

The man is obviously a combat agent himself, leaving April at even more of a disadvantage, so he flexes and stretches his hands, tests his jaw and moves into a defensive stance. 

“I’ll be there in 2 minutes, east. Don’t die.” Relief washes over him as December’s voice, alert for once, drawls through the device, only for him to snap back to reality when the glint of the knife flashes in his vision. He dodges to the side but he’s a beat late and pain blossoms from his left side, the knife cutting through his uniform and into the flesh below. He barely manages to stay standing and presses his left palm to the wound carefully and berates himself as he winces, changing his approach to one of surviving till December arrives.

Blood seeps stickily into his clothes, weighing him down, and he’s halfway to being backed into a corner when a bullet flies through the man’s head. April can only collapse back against the wall behind him, shifting his focus to his breathing.

“Took you long enough, you’re 40 seconds late.”

“I should’ve left you to fend for yourself, I was almost back with my marshmallows.” He raises a hand to his own earpiece with a yawn. “April got stabbed but there’s no one left in the building now.”

—————————————————

Chikage slips the turtleneck over his head and tugs it down his torso before running a hand through his hair to brush it back into place, the other waiting on his belt buckle. Hunching over slightly he flicks the tail out from the second pant loop, face calm, and works it out of the buckle. He tugs the belt from his pants and works the fly open, the other half of the scar from his abdomen a ghost on his left upper thigh. 

As he lowers his trousers to step out of them an ugly, sprawling iris upon the bulk of his right thigh greets him. He sucks in a short breath, it’s still painful after half a decade, and the skin gives a little under his touch.

—————————————————

Boots thumping on wet ground, rain battering against the hood of his coat, he’s fifty metres from the fence with pursuers another hundred away. He’d lost his earpiece in the interrogation room but no signs of the plan going off course has appeared so he continues his escape. 

Twenty-five metres from the fence, the bruises on his neck and back ache, and he has to fight the urge to wince and close his eyes as the rain seeps into the cuts on his face. The people behind him are still a safe distance, the heavy rain obstructing their view and rendering their firearms useless in this lighting. 

Ten metres from the fence, and a second later he’s scaling. Up, up and over. Except it’s not, one enemy having caught up and hooked a loop of wire around his right leg. It’s weak, and he breaks through it without trouble but winces as the momentum has a spike stabbing into his thigh. There’s no time to waste, leg bloodied and throbbing painfully he hoists himself over and away, August in the getaway car just behind the bushes.

December doesn’t say anything when he throws himself in the backseat, August speeding off before the door is even closed.

He wakes up the next day at their current base, December asleep on his stomach and August reading at his bedside.

—————————————————

Light, black techwear pants cover the scar, and harnesses, straps and holsters irritate the numerous little scars across his torso and legs. Walking over to the desk against the far wall, he produces a key from a pocket and unlocks the attached cabinet. He mindlessly picks up some choice weapons before popping an earpiece into his left ear and collecting a pair of combat gloves and boots.

Once the cabinet is locked again he plops down onto the couch next to his office clothes and works his boots onto his feet, laces crossing over one another as he tightens them and wriggling his toes a little to check for comfort. Boots on, he slides his hands into his gloves, and a small, red papercut on his finger catches his eye when it pops out of the finger hole. He smiles a little at the tiny wound before securing the gloves in place.

—————————————————

“Uwahh!! Chikage-san, your finger!” Sakuya’s voice rings out in the practice room.

Spring Troupe was lounging around the room, scripts in hand, as they read out their lines and tested words on their tongues when the leader reached over and grabbed his hand.

“You’ve got a papercut, careful!” Taking the script from Chikage’s hands he passes it to Citron, who in turn looks to Masumi who is already standing to grab a bandaid.

“It’s not that deep, it’s fine.” He reassures, but receives a playful whack from Itaru’s rolled up script in response.

“Don’t be like that, Senpai, what if it gets infected?” His smile is easy, obviously pleased that Chikage is (begrudgingly) allowing his troupemates to fawn over him a little. Masumi soon returns with a bandaid, and Sakuya offers to wrap his finger, his own careful and efficient as they place the Bain said over the wound.

“Now then, let us rendezvous!”

“Don’t you mean continue?!”

—————————————————

Gloves in place and armed to go, Chikage, April, flicks his earpiece on and heads towards the exit.

“April. Heading out now. Will arrive in T minus thirty.”

The door shuts behind him with a definitive click.

**Author's Note:**

> I... don't really have much to say about this other than this is my extremely unorthodox love letter to Utsuki Chikage and I hope you enjoyed it lol. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
